


feel the tones that tremble down your spine

by runningwithstars



Series: cover your crystal eyes [1]
Category: The 100
Genre: Abandonment, Angst, Betrayal, CEO!Lexa, Depression, F/F, Grief, Grieving, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Mentions of minor characters, Minor Character Death, More angst, Panic, Panic Attacks, Photographer!Anya, abby griffin (mentioned) - Freeform, abigail griffin (mentioned), artist!Clarke, if you want something else tagged tell me, one shot for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:30:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningwithstars/pseuds/runningwithstars
Summary: Lexa Woods is the person everyone aspires to be. Kind, yet stoic. Strong, yet calm. Successful, affluent and attractive.She has also been alone for five years, prefering thoughts of a life lost over the feeling of a warm body in her bed.That is, until her lost life threatens everything when it returns in the form of bitter remembrances and a blue eyed lover.





	feel the tones that tremble down your spine

_¤¤¤¤¤_

_Woah_   
_Cover your crystal eyes_   
_And feel the tones that tremble down your spine_   
_Woah_   
_Cover your crystal eyes_   
_And let your colours bleed and blend with mine_

¤¤¤¤¤

Lexa sat, an unlit cigarette dangling from her fingertips as she looked out at the vast landscape of polis, spread below her like a thousand bleeding hearts. A thousand lost souls, wondering from one set of arms to the other, clinging to whatever warmth they could find in this world.

She sighed. The cool glass was the only barrier between her and the rest of the world, yet it felt like a meter wide brick wall. A thousand bleeding hearts, yet none of them had touched her own. Lexa’s head lolled back and she looked at the ceiling, suddenly reminiscent of a different ceiling, one filled with cracks and water spots, and the warmth of a hand in hers.

(Perhaps she was always reminiscent of that ceiling. Of that warm feeling.)

She breathed in deeply, just to remind herself she was alive.

Five years.

It had been five years, today. She wondered where _she_ was. She wondered if she was happy – happier than her, surely.

She wondered if she’d become a doctor yet. If she’d given up smoking.

_“It’s my only vice, Lex.”_

Lexa shuddered at her memory. Sunlit hair and crystalline eyes, soft skin and softer words. The hazy feeling of being in love, even if all they had to show for it was a torn mattress and bruised knuckles.

Five years.

Her heart thumped an awkward, irregular rhythm. It seemed to have missed every second beat since she left, since Lexa drove her away – as if it was still painfully waiting for the heart that matched its shape. The key to an infinite, unbreakable lock.

But she had made her choice.

She had left. She had left Lexa and oh god – it hurt.

She kept the memory fresh – watered it every day, let it breathe like an open wound. Her psychologist told her it was toxic. She thought it was rather therapeutic.

 _“Please Clarke, please. This doesn’t have to end- we just need time. Clarke!”_ Alexandria Woods did not beg. But Clarke- Clarke was special. She always was.

 _“Time for what? I’m falling apart Lex, and you’re starting a company! You need stability, and I can’t give you that. Not anymore.”_ The words cut like a whip, softened only by the tears in Clarke’s eyes.

_“I know things are ha-”_

_“Hard. Hard. My dad is_ dead _Lexa.”_

 _“I’m sorry. Please. Clarke, I love you. Don’t leave me.”_ She couldn’t do this. It was her and Clarke. Always. _Always_.

 _“I’m sorry, Lexa.”_ A whispered, broken sentence, the soft forewarning before the only thing that mattered to Lexa disappeared from her life forever. The scene before the end credits, that chapter before the epilogue – the beginning of the end.

But perhaps the beginning of the end had been several months earlier when Clarke shattered everything that was breakable in their kitchen. Perhaps it had been when she found Clarke kneeling, blood streaming from her hands and arms and even her forehead, shattered ceramics and glass surrounding her. Or maybe it had been when she spent four days painting without eating, and ignored every plea from Lexa’s lips. It could even have been when Lexa spent twenty two hours with Clarke, sitting at her father’s grave in the pouring rain. Or when Lexa called Clarke every day from the hospital only to be met with awkward, judgemental silence, because Lexa had caught pneumonia and Clarke wouldn’t step foot inside the hospital. Or the rage that Clarke had been trapped in for three days when she found out Lexa, who barely had a penny to her name, had caved and allowed Abigail Griffin to pay her medical bills.

An alarm rang from her phone, and she groaned. Lexa dug the heels of her palms into her eyes, _hard_ , and slid the solitary cigarette back into the age worn container. She liked to pretend she could still smell Clarke on them, feel the soft touch of her lips against the smooth, inviting poison.

Standing up and finally slinging her suit jacket off her shoulder she moved through the suite with a tried grace. No photo’s adorned the walls, no magnets littered the fridge, and no colour touched the apartment. None except for an old, chipped mug that had a map of the world printed on it. It used to be held by the hands that had, for a time, shaped her world. _Fitting_ , Lexa thought.

 _Perhaps,_ thought a dangerous part of her mind, a part that urged her to move on, to find her way back to the living once more, _perhaps that wasn’t a good thing._

Anya, she knew, thought the same. That Clarke had had too much power over Lexa. She still did, even though Lexa hadn’t seen so much as a wisp of golden hair in five years. Though, her sister had always had strong opinions about generally everyone and everything, so she didn’t let it bother her too much.

She flicked on the coffee machine and absent minded, directed it into a rinse cycle. Anya loved coffee, and she’d be arriving soon. When they were young, and had nothing, coffee had been Anya’s favourite treat.

And  naturally, it became Lexa’s too.

 _Anya would probably die with a coffee cup in hand,_ Lexa thought wryly. It had been perhaps the one thing her sister had liked about Clarke; her ability to make and appreciate good coffee. Perhaps Clarke’s willingness to give said good coffee to Anya played into it as well.

Funnily enough, she still couldn’t imagine Clarke as a doctor. She would have been a magnificent one, no doubt, yet Lexa always knew Clarke was a born artist. Plus, after her Father’s death Clarke couldn’t even set foot inside a hospital, let alone work in one. She had been in the middle of her deferment from university when she left Lexa.

Besides, how can you trust someone who is so adept at breaking hearts to fix them?

 (You can’t.)

She placed the chipped mug back into the cupboard. Anya would have a field day if she saw it. Tired green eyes looked at the clock; ten minutes until her sisters nightly visit. This meant Lexa had perhaps five minutes before she arrived.

Lexa smiled. Anya was tiresome and frustrating and stubborn sometimes, but then so was she, and she loved Anya more than anything. She was family. She was all Lexa had, and far more than she deserved.

Lexa sighed and rolled her shoulders back, trying to relieve some of the tension that came with being a high profile CEO of a very affluent technology company. She loved it most days. But some days, some days she compared her life of luxury to the one she had with a beautiful blonde all those years ago, and maybe she feels resentful.

Maybe.

She poured milk into Anya’s coffee in the exact right amount, foregoing any sugar. Anya would drink a flavoured coffee, but she’d cut off her own fingers before putting raw sugar into it. Meanwhile, Lexa had hers black with two sugars.

Lexa had just placed the milk into the fridge and was contemplating what meaning money really had when you owned a _Smart Fridge_ when Anya unlocked the door and walked in, eyes dark and unrelenting.

Lexa smiled.

There were no words exchanged at first; there never were. Anya drew her into a too strong but familiar embrace before releasing her and making a beeline for her coffee. She downed maybe half of it before turning and raising her eyebrow at her younger sister. Anya’s sharp features, inherited from an unknown parent, made her an impressive character. An imposing figure, one that no one could lie to.

Not even Lexa.

(Especially not Lexa.)

“What’s new?” Her sister asked, her voice as familiar as Lexa’s own.

She had never questioned Anya’s insistence on visiting every night, or why it always occurred in Lexa’s home.  
  
(Perhaps deep down she already knew the answer.)

“Since last night? Not much.”

Anya’s lip quirked upwards a fraction. “You’re a charmer as per usual, sister.”

Lexa’s lips tilted up in return. “I try.”

The two women lapsed into a comfortable silence, and it wasn’t until Lexa had prepared them both a second coffee and they had sat down on the midnight blue couch that they truly began to speak. Lexa queried after Anya’s work and was pleased to find her sister’s photography career was booming now more than ever. Not that it needed to – Anya Woods name was known worldwide, and her prints were found in almost every home. In the world of art, her sister was a force to be reckoned with.

It was for this reason that Lexa knew if she ever really wanted to know if Clarke had made it, all she had to do was ask (and suffer the follow up, well-intended lecture). But she wasn’t going to ask, and Anya would not be so forthwith coming without prompting. It was simply her nature.

Plus, she hated Clarke Griffin with a burning passion. Lexa knew that if Anya was a lesser woman she would have done everything she could have to destroy Clarke’s chances in the artistic world. But Anya was level headed, and knew how to let Lexa fight her own battles.

“I know we haven’t really talked in a while Lexa. No,” She stops Lexa before she can protest with a raised hand, “Idle chit chat every night doesn’t count. I want to talk. I want you to talk. How are you?”

And Lexa paused, a thousand lies burning the edges of her lips, begging to escape into the heavy air of the apartment. But this was Anya.

“I miss her.”

“I know.” Lexa blinked. She expected Anya to berate her, scold her, not – not whatever this was.

Her elder sister in all but blood sighed at her confused expression. “I know I haven’t been the most supportive in regards to Clarke, Lexa. Probably because I’ve let my hatred cloud my judgement. But I’m not blind, kid. You loved her as if she was your sun, but when you flew to close you got burnt. And I think, despite it all, she loved you the same way. I’ll never understand how she justified walking away.”

“It was too much for her – I was starting a company, a successful one, and she just wanted to paint and grieve for her dad...” Lexa trailed off.

“Want. A funny word, Lexa. She wanted. She didn’t think about you. The truth is, Clarke Griffin was weak and it cost her the best woman she’ll ever meet.”

Lexa wanted to rage, to argue, to defend Clarke’s honour with her dying breath. And yet, that same dark voice inside of her knew that her sister was right.

Clarke Griffin gave up on everything. On Lexa, on herself, on their relationship. Everything.

Lexa held back tears as Anya continued, “You deserved better, Lexa. Better then what she did to you. She may have been grieving but that was no excuse to ice you out, treat you like shit for six months when you did _everything_ in your power to help her, and then leave you like you were a bag of rotten apples. You need to accept that you loved Clarke, and she loved you, but she was selfish and she did. The. Wrong. Thing.”

Lexa shuddered. Anya was right, of course. She always was. And Lexa had recognised a long time ago that Clarke had been a grenade, and she had been misfortunate enough to be to close when she detonated. But she had always held onto the belief that if only she had worked harder she could have saved her. Saved them. Put the pin back in, disabled the bomb, save what was left.  Instead, she’d destroyed herself.

“There is something else I have to tell you, Lexa.” Anya’s voice was uncharacteristically grave, even for her.

“Oh?” Lexa stilled.

“Clarke is back in Polis.” Anya watched her with those dark, intelligent eyes, the words spoken carefully.

As carefully as if she had been thinking about them for a long time, rolling them around in her mind and on her tongue, weighing up the pros and cons of telling her. It seemed she had reached her conclusion.

Lexa drew in a ragged breath. Clarke. _Clarke._ In arms reach, close enough to-

No. No – Clarke had made her choice. Polis was a big city. She could avoid her easily, right? Right.

“She will be participating in the 2018 New Year Annual Polis Art Exhibition.” Lexa felt faint.

Polis wasn’t that big after all. She could hear the thumping of her heart and the blood rushing around her head, and she felt her energy wane.

She dropped her head into her hands and ground her palms into her eyes. Clarke was back. She vaguely registered the sound of alarm the Anya admitted before she felt a soothing touch on her shoulder. Just like old times, when Lexa was just a kid and Anya was her big sister, her whole world, the only person that mattered. The only person that meant anything. She relaxed into her touch as she rubbed Lexa’s back, easing her back into reality.

“- It’s okay, Lexa. I won’t let her hurt you. Okay?” She soothed.

Lexa nodded mutely. Anya was like this only with her. Her soft voice and her steady presence. Perhaps it made Lexa weak but she’d never had the heart – or the will – to turn Anya away.

Lexa had always been strong, but she had a few weaknesses. Clarke Griffin and Anya Woods were two of them.

After all, Anya had been there all along. She’d been rolling her eyes when she asked Clarke to prom, rolling her eyes even harder when she gushed about getting into the same university as Clarke, begrudgingly moving furniture when they rented their own shitty apartment, threatening Clarke when she thought Lexa wouldn’t notice. Anya had been there for the beginning, the middle, and the earth shattering conclusion.

“You feel better?” Anya asked, gentle in a harsh way, the way only Anya could be.

Clarke was back.

“I’m fine,” Lexa rasped, sitting up. “I’m fine.”

(She wasn’t fine).

**Author's Note:**

> This is a oneshot for now - I may continue it, not sure :) The song is Crystals by of Montsers and Men


End file.
